


Unrequited

by Incognito



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 10,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incognito/pseuds/Incognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love unrequited is the same as love returned, for love is measured by its fullness and its purity, not by its acceptance. - A collection of Zutara drabbles and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unrequited

**Author's Note:**

> This collection of ficlets, told in no particular order, tell the story of Zuko and Katara who, unbeknownst to each other, share feelings they cannot reveal in the belief that such a forbidden love should never be returned.
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Unrequited (adj)—not reciprocated or returned in kind._  
> 
> 
> * * *

The sun begins to rise with its pregnant belly, throwing a dim blanket of rusty oranges and soft pinks across the camp. It’s still early and dark enough to continue sleeping, but Zuko wakes early—too early—feeling the sun’s energy lift him. Despite the dreamless night there’s a heavy rush of adrenaline singing in his veins, humming against skin with life. 

He’s ready to rise when he becomes conscious of a comfortable weight saddled up against him. Glancing down, he sees Katara’s cheek pillowed against his shoulder. She must have moved in the night, seeking his body for warmth. She’s fast asleep with her arm draped across his chest. Somehow his fingers have managed to tangle with hers; the brush of skin on skin sets his every nerve alight and he needs to do a double-take just to be sure she’s real. 

_She doesn’t love you, not like she loves Aang. And what if she does? What if she feels the same way you do? What will do? You’ll break her, Zuko. You’ll ruin her, take everything from her, and then what—apologise?_

He swallows hard and feels an unmistakable pain tighten in his chest. She looks so peaceful lying next to him, on him—too delicate and too lovely a woman for a man like him to wake up to. 

_June was right; she’s too pretty for you._

A fire begins to burn inside him and he feels like running, but she is comfortable beside him and he cannot unfasten himself from her body. The fire in his veins tells him to wait a little longer. He likes the feel of her weight, the cool touch of her skin against his. It calms him, comforts him. 

_How long do plan to pretend that this can go on, that you only care for her as a friend? How long before she realises how you truly feel? What then?_

But when he thinks of pushing her away, he can’t. It hurts too much reaching for hands that aren’t there; it’s like reaching for refreshing water to slake his thirst and finding his cup empty. He tortures himself either way, being with her or without her; whatever choice he makes will just condemn him all the same. There is no answer that will not end in wreckage for them both. 

She murmurs in her sleep, soft sounds against his skin that make him pull her close, despite himself, despite their situation. He will have to be content with the lot that life has given him; and even though he cannot have her he will protect her from danger with all his being. He will protect her from himself.


	2. What Little She Can Do

It is a rare day when Katara is bending peacefully with Zuko, even rarer when they’re not bending _at_ each other. Instead, the Fire Prince is sitting on the beach with his shirt off and his hands balled into fists resting on his thighs, waiting for her to make her move. 

Katara summons a circle of water from the ocean and bends it around Zuko’s naked shoulders. She tries to hide the smirk that has risen to her lips as she watches the Firebender begin to relax, closing his eyes and unclenching his hands. She knows she is the only person who can simultaneously frustrate and calm Zuko. It has always been their way.

As the water works its gentle tide into his muscles, relieving his tension, he lets a soft moan escape his lips and then smiles sheepishly, trying to hide the blush that pinks the tips of his good ear. But she sees it and smiles smugly.

 _Lower, lower._

Katara doesn’t tell him why she does it—why she gives him these impromptu massages—and Zuko doesn’t ask. She doesn’t know what she’d tell him if he did. How can she describe watching his entire body seize after Azula’s lightning struck him, the tendons in his neck standing out like cables as the wound from his chest smoked, and not being able to do anything for him? He had sacrificed himself _for her_.

_Ahh, yes, a little harder. Just a little—_

That day she had healed him, but Katara knew that kind of a wound would leave a scar that would never heal; a scar that would always haunt him with pain like the scar on his face. And she can’t imagine what waking up every day to that sort of pain feels like, so she tries to help in little ways, however she can. 

_There. Just right there—yes, that’s the spot._

Sometimes she lies beside him at night while the others are already fast asleep. He tosses and turns, whimpering in his sleep, and she forces herself to wait until one of his episodes have passed. Then, when she’s sure that he will not wake, she bends the water and smooths it over his face and chest until she can feel his heartbeat slow to its normal rhythm.

_Ahh, this is heaven. Do you do this for all the boys?_

The worst is hearing him talk in his sleep. Nothing intelligible, but the soft noises caught at the back of his throat sound as if it takes him every ounce of willpower to keep from screaming. It tortures her to only listen, to lay there in the dark and know that there is nothing she can do for him, nothing to stop the _please-don’t-go’s_ and the _Azula-always-lies’s_. 

_Don’t stop. What? I’m sorry. Katara, I didn’t mean—_

But in truth she isn’t sure she wants to face his demons, and she’s certainly not about to force him to open up to her. He already has, but even she knows that there is more to come, more layers beneath that beautifully scarred face of his. There has been so much heartache in his life—more than she has ever known or is willing to admit. But what they have together now is special. It might be uneasy and awkward, but somehow it’s right. A friendship or something more? She’s not sure. It is a rhythm that they’ve both fallen into and are loath to interrupt. 

_Thank you, Katara . . ._

So for now she’ll hold her tongue and try to massage away his worries and his pain—doing everything she can to make him feel a little more at ease, a little more at home.


	3. Let’s Dance

For once she is up before he is ( _he’s not sure why he fell asleep in the courtyard to begin with; it must have been the cactus juice—stupid Sokka!_ ) and he can only lift his head to stare at her as she takes light, brisk steps across the stone floor towards the water fountain.

She’s dressed for bending in a skimpy white outfit of bindings that makes him blush until he’s sure the rest of his face matches the red tint of his scar ( _no wonder Aang gets the wrong idea about his relationship with her when she’s wearing_ that _around him_ ). She busies her hands with the water and his eyes catch the sway of slender hips, the silky umber strip of bare flesh that is her torso. And now all he can think of is how the jut of her pelvic bones would fit perfectly against his palms.

Too suddenly his world narrows to her bottom lip, which is caught between her teeth in concentration, and the way she’s tosses an errant lock of chestnut hair behind her shoulder is far more inappropriate than it has any right to be. He imagines pushing his hands through her tumble of thick tresses and holding a kiss to her throat . . . 

With a concerted effort, he shakes the dangerous thoughts from his mind and shuffles to his feet, causing her to turn and drop the water she’s bending.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Her voice an upward lilt, matching the half-smirk on her face. “I’m surprised Sokka didn’t pass out beside you from all the cactus juice you two were drinking last night.”

He brings a hand to the back of his neck and rubs nervously, feeling his face flush a hot pink all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m never going to drink with your brother, or Momo, again.” 

He staggers over to the fountain to slake his thirst, which has reared up on him with a terrible vengeance like the mind-shattering headache he is currently sporting. She laughs beside him and he can feel the smile on her lips vibrate against his collarbone somehow. She is so comfortably-uncomfortably close it unnerves him. Without warning, she bends some water and splashes it in his face, causing him to sputter and turn towards her in shock. 

He lunges forward into dragon stance, raising his good eyebrow in challenge, and she squeals with laughter before settling back into a defensive position. Her blue eyes are serious and daring, but her lips twitch upwards into an unmistakable smile of amusement. His golden eyes glow in the morning light and the two benders begin to circle each other with practised grace, twin smirks lingering on their lips. 

This is their dance, and there’s really very little else worthy enough to occupy his mind or his hands. 

“Let’s dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per request, I wrote a one-shot that took place before this drabble: [The Dangers of Drinking Cactus Juice](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7172229/1/The_Dangers_of_Drinking_Cactus_Juice).


	4. Dangerous Games

The bottom of Zuko’s feet are ticklish. 

It’s a well-known fact. 

It’s a fact that Zuko’s feet are ticklish just like it’s a fact that Aang loves egg custard tarts or that Toph likes to give people nicknames ( _warranted or not_ ) or that Sokka loves his boomerang or that Momo likes to eat bugs. They’re all facts.

The fact about Katara is that she loves to rile up Zuko, and she’ll achieve this aim by any means necessary. 

Fact.

So when she races into Zuko’s room and lunges at him from across his bed, Zuko is understandably confused ( _and maybe even a little bit terrified_ ). He certainly doesn’t see it coming. How could he possibly notice Katara flying through the air like a ninja ( _or a flying squirrel, as some might put it_ )? Puzzled, and maybe slightly more than embarrassed, he lets her tackle him, and when she begins crowing that she has captured his bare feet, he’s already swearing and trying to crawl off the bed.

Katara’s laughter crescendos, for there is nothing else in the world that exists than the sweet rush of juvenile victory ( _that and the fact that she has rushed Zuko sans shirt_ ). And though she will deny it to the grave, ever since she reconciled with Zuko she’s made it a personal crusade to find just one spot where he’s ticklish. It’s her thing. Plus, he’s exploited hers on multiple occasions, including the one time where she’d yelped in front of Sokka and Aang when he’d purposely brushed up against the inside of her arm, and she’ll be damned if she can’t find some way to make him squirm.

Payback time is what it is.

But now Zuko’s yanking his feet away and trying his absolute hardest to ward her off with his hands. But when he grabs one of her wrists she just goes after him with the other hand. She knows it’s hard enough for him to keep a hold on her when she’s wriggling on his lap. She’s not sure why exactly, but he seems to capitulate to her demands when she does this ( _and why mess with success, right?_ ).

Eventually he manages to pin her hands above her head. She is sprawled across his lap and giggling like an absolute lunatic when he attempts to call a truce. She agrees for the time being, but if he thinks that she isn’t going to lie in wait for the first second his toes aren’t tucked up into the legs of those fancy trousers of his, he will be _sadly_ mistaken ( _and she will be in for a rude awakening if she thinks he’s going to let her win that easily_ ).

“You _do_ laugh after all!” Katara grins as Zuko finally releases her wrists with a glare and flops back onto the mattress. “Sokka owes me ten gold coins.”

Zuko props himself up onto his elbow, looking down at her waist as though he were drinking in her figure. She swallows nervously, wondering why her heart is suddenly beating so wildly. Why does it always do that when he looks at her that way? It is dizzying and euphoric and slightly terrifying. 

Suddenly, he lunges in without warning or mercy, going for her ribs. “Profit from my misery, why don’t you!” 

He relentlessly assaults her sides before Katara can so much as breathe. She finds herself doubled over, kicking and howling with laughter as she desperately tries to fend off his attack.

The mission has backfired. Abort! Abort!

Soon he takes pity on her but he has her arms up above her head and her chest is heaving. She’s breathing hard and there’s a mess of her chestnut curls strewn everywhere. He’s leaning over her, his shaggy dark hair hanging in front of his golden eyes, tickling the apples of her cheeks, and she can see that his pity has turned into something much more suited to darkness and closed doors and things she’s only heard whispered about by gossiping love-struck women.

It is then that Katara realises that this game of hers might be a little bit too dangerous for them, a little too close to home.


	5. An Unspoken Challenge

Katara has become fairly proficient at avoiding his fiery projections, and Zuko has learnt to stop rising to her baiting. To be fair, though, she only taunts him when she thinks she has the upper hand. But she's more subdued now when she bends, concentrating on his motions and his stances and not just reacting instinctively ( _sometimes he wonders how she wasn’t born a Firebender_ ). 

She counters his fire-whip with precision and a small smirk curls at the corners of her lips. There is an undeniable smidgen of pride that wells up inside him at this, knowing that she seems to have outfoxed him—for the time being—or at least he’d like to believe that it’s her skill rather than his unwillingness to do her harm that has caused his defences to slacken. Later on that night he would lay awake and wonder which.

For now he silently praises how she’s reined her temper in, keeping her physical returns subtle and careful while she gallivants across the fighting floor. The water, the way she bends it around their bodies, dances through the air and he deflects it with the fire, sending droplets spraying up into the sky. She regains control of each drop and glides the water through the air again, wisps trailing from the edges of the clouds overhead, before letting it hang over his head in a downpour.

He shields most but not all and quickly dries himself before he catches her grinning at him. He grins back.

She’s marvellous. 

He will push her further tomorrow because she will ask for it. More than Aang, she wants to learn, to be the best. She will always come to him to dance and he will never turn her away.

“I’ll have you on your butt next time,” she threatens in jest. “Maybe you’ll actually fight back.”

His eyes widen for a moment and then a blush creeps up his neck spreading to the tips of his ears. He turns his head and rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish grin forming on his lips before he resumes his stance.

“I always try.” 

She snorts. “Right.” 

There’s no anger or contempt in her voice or on her features. In fact, she’s smiling and it only causes him to blush even brighter, hotter. 

Why did he always have to feel _this way_ around her?

She knows somehow and it frightens him. It makes him wonder what will happen the day he really does fight back. Will she still be smiling then?


	6. Smile Lines

“I wish I got to see these more.” Katara fits her fingertip against the slight dimple in his cheek. “You don’t smile nearly enough, Zuko. Or laugh.”

Maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t. She’s the only one who ever really takes notice.

“I’ve never had much to smile about in my life.” He props himself up on his elbow. “Besides, Sozin’s Comet is going to approach any day now and we still can’t find Aang; it might be the end of the world as we know it.” He looks at her pointedly, his expression deadpan. “It’s not exactly a grinning-ear-to-ear kind of moment.”

No, it’s not. It’s the kind of moment, the kind feeling that settles back behind her lungs and spreads out through her chest with a sort of wild, hot panic. It makes her want to reach out and grab his hand or snag her arms around his neck—to hold him close and never let him go. 

“You’re such a pessimist,” she says, hiding the terror that is bubbling up inside. 

He gives her a smirk that’s almost like he wants to hide the way his eyes are staring past her and she can’t help but smile in return. She’s always liked the way he’s looked, all lost in thought like that. Her brooding Zuko—not that he’s hers. No. Although she’d never admit it, she can’t help but love how his golden eyes soften when they fall on her like that, like that look is reserved for her alone.

“I’m a realist, Katara.” He shifts and laces his fingers together behind his head, rolling onto his back. “I just want to know that Aang’s okay.”

She nods sadly and lays down beside him, touching her head against his elbow. “He’ll be okay, Zuko. He’s _Aang_ ,” she says, as if that’s answer enough, as if that’ll convince herself. “You’ll find him and he’ll defeat the Fire Lord.”

“Yeah?” He sighs wearily. “And what about Azula?”

“I’ll kick her butt but good,” she boasts with a wide grin. “No one calls you ‘Zuzu’ and gets away with it but _me_ . . . and possibly Toph.”

He turns his head and she’s already staring at him, giving him one of her looks with her cheek braced on her palm. Half his mouth turns up at the corner and he smiles. A real smile. And suddenly everything seems less terrifying.


	7. Stay With Me

He wakes to the sterile smell of sickness. Harsh light filters through thin red curtains, and he dimly recalls a time when the red material was thick and oppressive. The glare of the sun stings his eyes but it’s a welcome sort of pain. Even the dull ache throbbing in his chest with every heartbeat feels like the pulsing of relief. 

At the back of his mind a voice niggles at him and he brushes it aside. When he had briefly passed out after the lightning struck his chest, he had fully expected not to wake up. But he did. He had opened his eyes to see to Katara sitting over him, crying as she healed him. Even now she’s still with him, sitting in a chair beside his bed. She’s slumped forward, her head lolling against her shoulder, fast asleep. 

Mercifully, he has the ability to move and he quietly sits up, tentatively reaching out to touch her. He pushes his fingers gently through her hair and smiles. She’s dishevelled and frayed, still in the ruined clothes she’d been wearing when Azula had tried to kill her—when he had taken the lightning for her.

He smooths his hand over her her cheek; it’s cool to the touch but her skin is soft and inviting, and he can’t quite believe that she hasn’t left his side. His eyes are still stinging badly and he suddenly wants to laugh or cry, but it makes everything hurt and it comes out more like a sniffle than anything. He drops his hand as Katara lifts her head, opening her beautiful blue eyes. She looks tired but the shadow of a relieved smile passes her lips. 

He looks down, his honour preventing him from saying what he feels. When he glances back up there is a mix of emotions reflecting in her eyes like nothing else he’s seen on the face of the earth. And he’s not sure if he will ever find contentment or belonging anywhere else but in those eyes.


	8. Healed

“Zuko!” she calls his name frantically, running over to where he lay.

_And this way no one else has to get hurt._

Azula’s trapped and screaming behind her. Rage and fire filling the air, but Katara only hears Zuko’s shallow breathing, sees his prone body curled on his side. She kneels beside him and gently turns him over onto his back. That is when she sees the smoking scar on his chest and her own chest tightens in indescribable pain. 

_I’m going to heal you_ , she tells him in her mind; her voice is not yet brave enough to leave her dry throat. 

Her hands tremble as she bends the water to his chest, searching for any sign of life. Fresh tears sting her eyes as she concentrates, dripping down her face and mixing with the healing water. Sure fingers coated with ice caress his heart and reignite the fire within. A pulse beats rhythmically under her fingertips and she feels her own heart beat in sync with his. 

They have become the link of one breath, one heartbeat. 

A moan escapes his lips and he shifts in her embrace. Golden eyes struggle to open, peeking out through long lashes, and he manages a smile for her. She releases a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and smiles back.

_One breath._

“Thank you, Katara,” he croaks, unable to lift his hand to touch her face. 

_One heartbeat._

She swallows hard, trying to choke back tears of relief that well up and clog her throat, making her face throb with heat. “I think it’s me who should be thanking you.”

Suddenly, she lunges forward and hugs him, clinging to him like a drowning man at sea. They are of one heartbeat now and she will never leave him again. Not ever.


	9. Bandages

As dawn breaks so does most of Uncle’s fine China. The disjointed song of the hammer’s fall eclipses the melody of the cuckoo-cockerel’s call outside, and Zuko receives a rude awakening as any when a piece of the ceiling falls onto his lap.

Generally, Zuko enjoys these weekly vacations each year with the gang ( _or as Sokka likes to still refer to them as, ‘Team Avatar’_ ), but this year it’s only him and Katara. Aang’s off travelling the world to find a mate for Appa; Toph’s on a forced month-long visit with her parents ( _the only way to keep them out of her hair while she sets up her own Earth and Metalbending Academy_ ); and Suki’s in her third trimester with Sokka panicking and running around the house like a chicken-pig with its head cut off. 

With just Zuko and Katara this year, Katara insists that they still take vacation together at his uncle’s place in Ba Sing Se. She also decides that they will help Uncle with his tea shop and any ‘repairs’ the building might need. Now Zuko wouldn’t have minded this if it wasn’t for the fact that Katara is just plain horrible at building, fixing, or even tidying up.

The rhythm of the hammer ( _or whatever she is using; she could just be pounding on the roof with her fists for all he knew_ ) is interrupted for a rousing bout of colourful expletives—expletives Zuko didn’t even know were part of Katara’s repertoire. The Waterbender’s technique with tools leaves something to be desired and they are swiftly running out of bandages with which to treat her mistakes ( _she refuses to heal them herself, claiming that would defeat the purpose of . . . well, whatever she’s doing_ ). If Zuko were a creature of mercy, he would have put an end to her self-harming project, but a part of him likes seeing her get all worked up.

As much as he hates to admit it, Zuko feels vaguely elated whenever Katara runs up to him pouting, showing him a bruise or a cut. There’s this odd sense of satisfaction he feels whenever she comes running straight to him for his attention, showing him her weaknesses and her frailty. She’s sharing things about herself that she hasn’t shared with anyone else and it makes Zuko feel honoured and appreciated, and maybe even a little loved. 

So Zuko will let Katara tear down Uncle’s shop. He’ll let her raze it to the ground with her epic fail fix-it projects just as long as he’s there to pick up the pieces and treat her wounds with gentle hands and a loving smile ( _and lots and lots of bandages_ ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cuckoo-cockerel is a hybrid of my own creation – the combination of a cuckoo and a rooster. I was being painfully sarcastic when I described its call as being melodious; however, it would probably be a better sound to wake up to than Katara’s hammering on the roof. ^_~


	10. Letting Go

“So, uhm, what’s it like at the South Pole?” 

There’s a half-smile on his face; the kind that would make any girl’s stomach do somersaults when it reaches his eyes ( _the bad one withstanding_ ), but Katara’s not any girl and she’s certainly not in the mood to pander to the prince.

“Cold,” she answers tersely, gripping Appa’s reins tightly in her hands.

She’s not mad at Zuko anymore, not really. He had taken her to his mother’s killer; he had been there for her when no one else had, willing to do what others wouldn’t. But there was still anger in her heart, not just because he used to be her enemy but because long ago she had been the first to reach out to him and believe in him, and he had betrayed her. Not the team. _Her_. Letting go of that kind of anger was difficult for Katara; it required her to forgive herself first.

“Are there otter-penguins there?” He’s leaning forward with his right elbow resting on top of his knee. He has given her her distance, which is wise because she feels like punching him in his stupid Firebending head. 

“Yes, Zuko, there are otter-penguins and zebra seals and polar bear dogs and—” she takes in a deep breath before continuing “—and all there is snow and ice, no sun, only the moon and the night sky and the blind white freezing cold.”

There’s a beat of silence and then he brings his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it gently. “Jeez, that bad, huh?” 

Katara can’t help but snort. “It’s cold—” she turns her head to fully look at him “—but it’s not as horrible as you Fire Nation people might imagine.”

“ _You Fire Nation people_? “So what, are we all the same now? You ask me not to stereotype your people and your culture and yet here you are doing just that to me and mine.”

Stymied, Katara just stares at him for a moment. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. She’s not sure how to respond; whether she should be angry or ashamed or both. But before she can decide anything, Zuko is already laughing, tiny smile lines spreading at the corner of his good eye.

“You’re riling me up on purpose!” Her cheeks bloom with colour, and Zuko laughs louder. She suddenly lunges forward, tackling him back onto Appa’s saddle. 

“What did you do for fun as a kid, Katara? Wrestle polar bear dogs in the snow?” He laughs to the point where he’s wheezing and she rolls on top of him, struggling to get the upper-hand. “Did you dance with otter-penguins?”

Zuko’s given up by now, laughing so hard that he’s coughing up fire. Katara sits on his chest and pins his hands above his head and looks down at his smiling face. She has never seen the exiled prince look so happy before, and she feels her anger quickly giving way to laughter.

“Sokka’s the one who danced with otter-penguins.” She rolls off Zuko and onto her back. She’s breathing heavily with her hands on her belly, trying to regain her composure. “So what did Prince Zuko do for fun as a kid, invade Ba Sing Se?”

Three beats of silence pass between them and she turns to look at him. His mouth is twisted downward into a frown and his body has gone rigid.

“Agni Kai,” he finally answers, lacing his fingers together and bringing them behind his head.

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, thinking she’s lost him for the moment. He looks consumed by events he’d have much rather stayed buried in the past. She decides not to ask again.

“I will tell you, though,” he says with that raspy voice of his, “I was quite the brat when I was a kid. I used to dunk turtle ducks in the pond.”

She laughs before she can think to hold it back ( _she really shouldn’t find it funny to begin with_ ). “Who, _you_?” She pretends to think about it for a minute then grins evilly. “Yeah, I can see it . . . Prince Zuko, the turtle duck abuser.”

He shoves her shoulder and grins, and she’s smiles back, just glad that he’s smiling again. Maybe they could become friends after all. No, scratch that. Maybe they already are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else find it annoying and stupid that hybrid animal names and bending powers are all capitalised and/or hyphenated sporadically and no real source to verify it all? I feel like I haven’t quite yet left the Harry Potter realm . . .


	11. Of One Heart

There comes a day when his worst fears rear their ugly heads like a monster out of long-forgotten myth. For once it is not about his honour or his pride or his ‘destiny’. His ego falls to the wayside when he sees Azula’s eyes shift and look past him at Katara.

For the first time in years, Zuko remembers what true panic feels like—the wash of fire and glass swimming through his veins as if being pumped by a hummingbird wings hell-bent on destroying what’s left of his heart.

He’s already jumping through the air and he hears Katara gasp behind him. Fear spreads like a rumour and his mind kicks into gear, reeling and cursing with _what-have-I-done’s_ chasing themselves in his head. _Why did he make her come with him? Why couldn’t he protect her?_

He feels the lightning hit him, flowing through his blood and crackling in his veins, and he cannot move. He takes the ball of lightning into his chest and tries to redirect it, but the energy has settled into his heart and he falls into darkness.

Suddenly, he feels life in him again; the beating of his own warm heart linked with another stronger heart. Katara’s cold hands are still on his chest and he can feel her knees pressing into his sides. He wants to open his eyes and reach for her hands, but all he can manage is to force his eyes open into slits.

He almost cannot bear to look at her, expecting to see accusation and blame splashed across her lovely face. Instead there is relief and joy in those beautiful blue eyes of hers and something else—something that looks an awful lot like love.

All those mistakes he had made—all the lies, all the betrayal, all the hurt—they all just ebb away when he meets her eyes. He feels her hands on his chest and the beat of his own heart pulse in sync with hers and he knows.

_They are of one breath._

_One heartbeat._

_One heart._

And he would die for her all over again.


	12. Never Have I Ever

“—I’ve never kissed Aang!” Sokka’s voice booms. His hand is raised in the air, waiting for a congratulatory high-five that’s never going to happen.

Katara glares at her brother and downs her cold rum tea, which tastes a lot more like rum than tea. She makes a face, sticking out her tongue ( _spirits curse Iroh for letting Sokka into his tea shop!_ ) while Aang blushes furiously beside her, holding his cup of jasmine tea sans alcohol. 

Toph is laughing boisterously and punches Katara hard in the shoulder while Zuko watches them all with a nervous sort of grin plastered on his face, which immediately curves downwards into a frown when Mai catches him looking Katara’s way.

It’s bad enough that Sokka is put in charge of hosting their victory day celebration ( _they all saw how well his victory day portrait earlier that day had turned out_ ), but the worst part has to be the fact that Mai has been shooting Katara metaphorical daggers all night. It’s just bad luck. 

Of course the _real_ problem is that Zuko and Katara now got along like a proverbial house on fire ( _that’s what happens when you take lightning for someone_ ). Both are skilled, hot-tempered, loyal, competitive, and _much_ more dangerous than they appear. Put in the same room together they have a habit of laying waste to everything and everyone around them ( _society at large, really_ ). Put in the same room with a steady supply of alcohol and only one thing can happen: a drinking game.

While Katara is undoubtedly competitive, especially when it comes to competing with Zuko, she has a rather low tolerance for alcohol ( _she’s only just turned fifteen_ ). She can’t possibly out-drink Zuko, but she tries. Oh yes, she tries.

“I’ve never offered Momo as a sacrifice,” Katara says, smiling slyly at her brother.

“Crap,” Sokka slurs, throwing back his drink, and Toph follows suit.

Aang’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. “Toph!”

“What?” The Earthbender hiccups, grinning ruthlessly. “Momo makes for a good sacrifice.” She pats the lemur affectionately on the head and it purrs at her ministrations.

“C’mere, Momo!” Sokka suddenly cries. His cheeks are rosy and he spreads his arms wide. The lemur chirps excitedly before flying over to embrace the Water Tribe warrior. It’s just another touching Sokka-Momo moment.

“My turn!” Toph says excitedly, and she turns to look at Zuko, giving him a conspiratorial look before smirking. “I’ve never been banished.”

Zuko growls, throws back his cup of cold rum tea, and scowls at the Earthbender. Katara brings a hand to her mouth and snickers loudly, causing Zuko to reach over and gently shove her. This only elicits more laughter and the two can’t seem to stop giggling ( _apparently neither can handle their rum because it’s quite the sight to behold ‘Fire Lord’ Zuko giggling like a schoolgirl_ ). 

Needless to say, Mai is not impressed.

Once the laughter dies down, Zuko points at Sokka and Aang with his cup and smiles smugly. “I’ve never shaved my legs.” 

Everyone’s mouth drops open.

“It was a bet!” Sokka cries in his defence, while Aang remains silent and blushes profusely.

The two boys exchange mortified glances before throwing back their drinks with the girls, minus Toph, of course ( _trust a blind girl with a sharp knife, would ya?_ ). Toph and Katara are cackling loudly and rolling around on the floor at this point, taking delight in Sokka and Aang’s obvious discomfort. Even Mai cracks a smile.

Sokka glares at Katara, who is laughing the loudest, and raises his cup. “I’ve never kissed Jet!” He closes his eyes and makes dramatic kissing noises at his sister.

Suki’s hand comes out of nowhere, slapping Sokka upside the head. He rubs it tenderly, offering his girlfriend his most pathetic ‘I’m-sorry-please-don’t-hate-me-just-look-at-how-adorable-I-am’ expression.

“YOU KISSED JET?” Both Zuko and Aang cry at once, leaning forward on their hands to look incredulously at Katara.

Everyone is silent, blinking nonplussed in unison, while Mai scowls and then rolls her eyes.

“I never kissed Jet!” Katara yells, angry that she has to defend herself to Aang and Zuko. Who do they think they are—her father or her boyfriend? “And it would be none of your business if I did—the either of you!”

Zuko and Aang sit back down on the floor and offer sheepish grins. Blushing fiercely, they both reach with their hands in unison to nervously rub at the back of their necks.

“I’m next!” Toph pumps an energetic fist in the air, readily changing the subject. “I’ve never had a crush on two boys at once.”

All eyes are suddenly on Katara again, who is scowling so darkly at the Earthbender that one would think she was trying to burn a hole through her skull. Katara then throws back her drink and mutters angrily to herself. 

The night carries on in much the same fashion until everyone is fairly inebriated, including Mai ( _who is a remarkably pleasant drunk_ ) but excluding Aang ( _the kid will eat egg custard but not drink custard wine_ ). As everyone begins to pass out from sheer exhaustion, Katara stumbles outside for a breath of fresh air. Leaning against the railing, she feels someone approach her from behind her and she turns.

“Hey,” Zuko says with a wave, joining her out on the terrace.

“Hey.”

Both watch the sun set over Ba Sing Se.

“The war’s over,” he breathes with a sort of finality, a sense of calm washing over his features, and Katara nods with a smile.

“The war’s over. And you’re Fire Lord.”

“And _I’m_ Fire Lord.” He laughs nervously and she joins him. They both edge in a little closer to each other until Zuko’s arm is suddenly draped over her shoulder. “I’m glad we’re friends, Katara.” 

“Me too,” she says, touching his hand and then blushing as his fingers briefly entwine with hers. “Friends forever, right, Zuko?”

“Forever.” He leans in so that his lips brush against her ear. “So _who_ are these two guys you have a crush on?”


	13. The Bet

“And that,” Sokka says to Aang with a flourish, as he inches the blade off his chin, “is how you shave.”

Zuko briefly glances at Sokka’s reflection in the mirror before heating his own blade. “Aang’s only twelve, Sokka.” He carefully slides the knife against the grain. “He doesn’t need to shave yet.”

“I already know how to shave!” Aang protests, rubbing his bald head. “I’ve been doing it longer than the two of you!”

“Being trapped in an iceberg for a hundred years doesn’t count as a length of duration,” Sokka rebuts. “It’s not like you were growing hair at the time.”

“Noooo, not that!” Aang waves his hand before pointing at himself. “I’m a monk. I’ve been shaving my head since I was little.”

Zuko snorts, rinsing his blade in the water. “You’re _not_ little anymore?”

“Ha-ha!” Sokka slaps his knee and laughs before bringing a finger to his eye to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Good one, Zuko!”

Aang bristles at the joke told at his expensive and points a daring finger at Sokka. “Yeah, like you could shave better than me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Zuko straightens up. “Guys, this isn’t a competition.”

“Stay out of this, Fire Nation.” Sokka waves a hand dismissively at the prince while looming over Aang. “I bet that I can do a better shaving job than you, Ava- _tard_!” 

“I’ll take that winning bet. You’re only going to lose, uh—” Aang’s eyes narrow briefly before his face lights up in a dazzling smile “— _Sock_ -ah!”

“Burn!”

“Where do we shave?” Aang asks, ignoring Zuko’s slight. “Our heads?”

Sokka clutches at his hair in a mild panic. “Not my glorious mane!”

“How about your legs?” Zuko offers.

“Good idea.”

Zuko smacks his face with his palm. “Oh brother.”

Sokka and Aang immediately lift a leg up on the basin counter and begin shaving. Their lips are twisted in keen concentration and their tongues hang out in a concerted effort; their eyes are glued to their legs in skilled determination. Zuko, on the other hand, has his arms crossed over his chest with his right hand lifted to cover his face; his forefinger and thumb are pinching the bridge of his nose. His expression is that of pain or slight embarrassment ( _probably both_ ).

“ _This is my destiny. This is my destiny. This is my destiny._ ”

“Yeah, you keep repeating that mantra, Zuko,” Sokka says distractedly, checking his leg for hairs before moving onto the next. “It’s never going to erase _this_ image from your mind.”

Suddenly, Zuko drops his hands and turns around. “That’s it. I’m leaving.”

“No! We need you here to judge!”

He closes the door behind him and instantly runs into Katara, who smiles and points past him.

“What’s going on in there?” she asks, and Zuko shakes his head.

“Nothing . . .” He pauses when her blue eyes narrow suspiciously. “Shaving.”

Her mouth forms into an O shape and then she reaches up to touch his cheeks, first the good side and then the bad. “Mm, baby smooth.”

He blushes a bright pink and settles his hand on top of hers. Before he can reply, Sokka and Aang can be heard arguing from within the room behind them.

“I win! Mine are smoother.”

“No way, Ava-tard! Mine are the smoothest!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!”

Katara blinks, her hand still resting on Zuko’s cheek. “Do they need help?”

“You have _no_ idea.”


	14. Skeletons

He’s showing her how to make a miniature tropical cyclone in the water, heating the atmosphere around them. She smiles proudly at their progress, impressed by his skills at manipulation. She wants to make the storm bigger, but he is wary. Without warning, the cyclone begins to build into a typhoon and lightning crackles dangerously in the sky.

Zuko draws all the heat from the air ( _something she didn’t know he could do_ ), and she drops the water the moment she sees his knees buckle from the pressure. She catches him before he falls and they both tumble into the water. That particular style of bending has drained him, especially considering he was still controlling the air temperature as she shaped the water. She asks him why he did it, but he only tells her that he didn’t want the storm to grow out of control; he did not want to see her get hurt.

He stands and rubs tiredly at his face, and she reaches out to touch his scar. His reflexes are swift and he captures her hand in his, holding it to his unmarked cheek. They stare at each other for a moment, fingers locked together, and he looks as though he’s about to speak. But then he drops her hand and turns around, silently wading out of the water towards the beach and out of sight.

She lowers her head and sighs, bringing her hands to her bare midriff. The hand he touched still feels warm and tingly, and she reaches up to touch her own face ( _where his scar would be_ ). A blush blossoms on her cheeks and she slides her fingers through her hair, gathering a thick knot and twisting, wringing the water out.

She makes her way onto the beach, picking up her dress and slipping it on. Glancing up, she sees Toph sitting on a rock overlooking the lake. The Earthbender is holding herself loosely in her seat, relaxed and at home like a badger-mole burrowing underground. But it’s those sightless green eyes of hers that give Katara reason for pause—sightless eyes that somehow _see_ everyone’s secrets.

“I’d be careful with Zuko if I were you, Sweetness,” she warns, and Katara feels her ears heat with the shame of a child being caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. 

Being blind, Toph spares Katara the indignity of staring at her and for that Katara isn’t sure whether to feel slighted or grateful. The fact that Toph can read her so well without seeing or even needing to hear her speak unnerves Katara and so she leans towards the later.

Toph nimbly jumps off her self-crafted podium and wanders past Katara in the direction of the forest, all interest in the Waterbender’s personal life seemingly lost. She’s as languid and nonchalant as ever. It’s that same detached idiosyncrasy of Toph’s, coupled with a thin layer of well-masked elegance and carefully dolled out insouciance, that makes Katara envious. The blind girl’s devil-may-care attitude is something to be envious of, and the fact that she keeps her own emotions so well-guarded makes her an ideal observer and judge of others.

“It’s just Zuko,” Katara says with a forced laugh, knowing that Toph will still be able to read her. “I know what skeletons lurk in his closet. _We all do_.”

Toph stops walking and turns around, shaking her head with a grin that’s a borderline grimace. “Sweetness, there’s a few skeletons and then there’s a whole army of the undead.” She raises her foot, picking a pebble out from between her toes, and flicks it towards the beach. “The Sunshine Prince has got deep-seated issues that even _he_ isn’t prepared or _willing_ to face. No point in you trying.”

Part of Katara is still shrinking from embarrassment that Toph knows her feelings, her intentions, but another small and strong-willed part flares in defiance at being treated like a child. She’s older than Toph, dammit!

“I appreciate the concern, Toph,” Katara says through clenched teeth, cinching the belt around her waist more tightly than necessary, cutting off air and circulation.

“But?” Toph supplies, looking away from Katara but still holding that annoying, know-it-all grin on her face.

“But I’m a big girl.” 

Katara holds her head high and makes her way past the Earthbender. Toph turns to face her and there’s a sudden hard-edge to her blind eyes and a narrow smile that Katara doesn’t quite understand.

“Oh, I didn’t say this for _your_ benefit, Sweetness.” 

And with that puzzling smile, Toph strides away, leaving a confused Katara behind.


	15. Change

 for you; so must i change

 

 

 

that i could see the face of love, i would

die a thousand deaths to touch your heart, and

no regrets would stain my fears; but if you would not

have me, love, and only sought reprieve,

i would suffer my life to bear;

 

 

 

and if i could change, dissolve into water

like thin tendrils of blood, my loss will have come

to none; but if i were to look upon you, withered

like dry autumn leaves, waiting to be crushed,

i would suffer a second death;

 

 

 

so must i change; for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble poem was inspired by EE Cummings’s “it may not always be so; and i say” ( _yes, it’s all lower-cased like that_ ). There’s not much to explain. You can interpret it however you like. Although, I’d like to point out the negative space between the stanzas is supposed to be a river. Hmm.


	16. Forgiveness

She is lost in her own thoughts as a face seems to hover before her, poking at the conscious recesses of her mind. She blinks twice, registering Aang’s voice. He is saying something to her, congratulating her for forgiving her mother’s murderer and telling her that forgiveness is the first step towards healing. But Katara can only shake her head at his words.

“But I didn’t forgive him,” she says. “I’ll _never_ forgive him.” She glances up and looks over at Zuko before taking a step forward and offering him a sad smile. “But I’m ready to forgive _you_.”

She can see the shock register on his face when she rushes towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. But he doesn’t stiffen or step back; instead, he closes his eyes and embraces her fully as she clutches onto him tightly. She can feel him press into her, heartbeats shared-warm, and her own heart lodges in her throat when he circles both hands around her waist and pulls her in close. 

He smiles into her hair and she shuts her eyes tighter, sighing contently. This is the release she has been seeking all along. This is her peace.

When she finally pulls away and looks up, he is smiling down at her ever so gratefully that she cannot help but smile back, tears welling in her eyes. Her hand lingers on his arm and her heart suddenly feels very light, as though a great weight of sorrow has been lifted from it. Even though she has forgiven him she cannot help but feel as though she has forgiven herself in some small way. Until now she has never realised how much she has needed that.

Although she will never tell him any of this she can see the recognition in his eyes, almost as if he knows. His return of her embrace is like an apology for the violence he has wreaked upon her—in her past and in her subconscious—and her hand on his shoulder is the forgiveness that he has been so desperately seeking. 

It is then that they share a knowing smile: one that speaks of a long road that they have travelled to get to this point of forgiveness and acceptance, but a road that they can now both travel together.


	17. Water

They are standing above the shore, sharing twin stances as they direct the flow of their outstretched hands to their chests, down their stomachs, and then out and upwards. They have been practising for days, repeating the monotonous process ad nauseum until Zuko finally drops his hands and brings them to his face, taking in a deep sigh.

“Uncle, why exactly are we using _Waterbending_ techniques to redirect lightning?”

“Because lightning is energy, Nephew,” Iroh explains patiently. “It is an evasive force that attacks without warning. It is emotional like a storm, like the sea itself.”

“How?”

“Observe the water.” He points down to the tumultuous sea below. “The tide is constantly shifting, flowing to and from the shore. Like the lightning, you must learn to accept its current, adapt it, and redirect it like a whirlpool.”

Iroh creates a swirling ball of blue fire to mimic this motion. Maintaining the flaming blue vortex in one hand, he uses his other hand to direct a smaller orange flame against the flow, causing the blue fire to destroy it completely.

“Is it ever wise to swim against the current?” He lifts a bushy white eyebrow when his nephew does not reply. “No, you must flow with it and manipulate its energy to serve you.” He lights another orange flame and sends it flowing with the blue current, which effortlessly absorbs it, tinting the colour of the fire in his palm.

Zuko watches the flames dance and swirl, memorised, and then shakes his head. “But I’m so used to creating my own energy and not letting that energy control _me_.” He curls his hands into fists. “Waterbending is too _emotional_.”

Iroh laughs heartily at this, letting go of the flame to hold onto his shaking belly. “Dear Nephew, that is the Waterbender’s strength—his emotion.” 

“But can’t that be used against him?” Zuko’s golden eyes glint in the dying sun. “If emotions rule a Waterbender, then wouldn’t that make him an unstable opponent?”

“Was the Avatar’s Waterbender unstable?” Iroh’s lips turn upwards into a knowing smirk when his nephew directs a menacing glare his way. “No, Prince Zuko, Waterbenders are ruled by the tides of the moon just as we Firebenders are ruled by the rays of the sun. It is from our elements that we draw our strengths.” He raises a solemn finger in protest. “But we cannot limit our knowledge and experience to just _one_ element. We must learn from them all in order to gain inner peace, to know ourselves.”

“To know ourselves?”

“Just as the sun gives us life, the moon gives us balance. Without both we would fall into darkness and ruin.”

A warm breeze suddenly wafts between them and Zuko relents, sitting down in front of the empty fire pit. The sky has darkened and the humid air settles into his bones, creeping into the red leathery skin below his left eye as if to signal an approaching storm.

“How do you know all this Waterbending stuff anyway?” 

Iroh lights a fire and scattered grey ashes rise up with the flames, clouding his face. He takes a seat on the hard ground across from his nephew and stares unblinkingly at the fire. Through the hours of training there has grown between them a long, exhausting dialogue, and now that a pause has finally come Zuko wonders if his uncle will ever answer his question. 

“I once loved a Waterbender in my youth.”

It is not the answer that Zuko had been expecting. “A _Waterbender_?”

“Yua, from the Northern Water Tribe.” Iroh lifts a hand to the flames. The sleeves of his robes are pushed up to his elbows and he suddenly resembles a young man in the firelight. “She was very beautiful and kind, a real hell cat when we would make—”

“Uncle!”

Iroh grins, amused by his nephew’s hasty demurral. “She was an exquisite woman; very emotional and fierce.” He lowers his arm and lets his sleeves fall back down, tucking his hands inside. “It was from her that I first learned how to redirect lightning.”

“But, Uncle . . .” Zuko pauses, scratching the back of his head. “I thought the Northern Water Tribe doesn’t allow female Waterbenders.”

“They don’t.” Iroh’s eyes flash darkly in the firelight. “She was one of the last.”

Zuko hesitates to ask. “ _Was_?”

“ . . . She died.”

They sit together in the rigid silence until Iroh finally rises to his feet. He makes his way back to the cave without a farewell or calling for Zuko to join him. If he cannot not speak the whole long truth to his nephew, then no other words will come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn’t Zutara, but I sort of view this as history repeats itself. Iroh, like Zuko will soon be forced to repeat, loved a Waterbender. Consider it a royal family tradition, like complicated pasts. 
> 
> Now I’m not claiming that Iroh is the reason why women aren’t allowed to be trained as benders at the North Pole, but maybe such arcane customs were enforced by that particular tribe because of such liaisons as Iroh and Yua’s. It’s kind of sad when you think about it.
> 
> *Yua is Japanese for _a love that binds_.


	18. Heat

The heat is almost unbearable, and she cannot understand how or why Aang and Zuko can even bend in it. Luckily she can cool herself off; unfortunately, they do not have such luxury. But despite the sweltering heat she lounges on the steps and watches them bend. Her attention, however, is stolen by Zuko, enthralled by the way he moves. 

His hair is in his face, hanging in his eyes and sticking to the taut blades of his cheekbones. He raises his fist to aim and the muscles in his jaw clench. The honed angles of his face seem to catch the shadows from the fire, casting hollows in his cheeks. And when his lips are drawn together in a tight line of concentration, he begins to lift and kick through the motions, directing the fire with ease. The act in itself is hypnotic, but not as much as it is watching his form. 

Her eyes surreptitiously scan his face, centring on his nose, watching how the nostrils flare and contract as he deeply inhales and exhales with the motion. A bead of sweat rolls down the bridleway of his nose and drips down onto his lip, but he doesn’t move to wipe it away. All his attention is focussed on his movements, following through into the next with surprising grace and fluidity. 

Once more Katara’s attention returns to his face, noting the dips and sharp lines, and that is when she realises how straight-edge his features are, how perfectly symmetrical despite his physical deformity. When she finally dares herself to look at his eyes she is struck by the juxtaposition of the angularity of their shape compared to the softness of their colour. Whereas the right eye is large and round, the left is narrow and slanting upwards, and somehow it all seems to fit.

Suddenly she finds herself wondering how sharp the rest of his body is—where the lines and the angles meet. Her eyes travel downward past the staves of his neck and over the ridge of his collarbone until they rest directly on the mecca of his chest. Her breath hitches in her throat at the sight. 

Sweat beads and runs down his chest in thin rivulets, trickling down the smooth ridges of his body until they pool into the nape of his navel and trail downward into the waistband of his trousers. Sinewy muscles tighten and ripple with every movement, pulling and tugging as he turns. His torso is soaked with a slick sheen of sweat.

Maybe it’s the heat, she tells herself, releasing pheromones or something. But there is something about his sweat; the way that it coats his shoulders and chest, glistening in the muted light of the sun. It makes her want to bend the water off him and taste him—to taste the saline flesh beneath her fingertips. 

“Are you okay?” Toph asks, shaking Katara from her reverie. The Earthbender’s voice is full of concern yet there’s a knowing smugness lurking behind her tone. 

Shaken, Katara hastily runs her fingers through her hair and laughs. “I’m fine. I’m just really hot—I-I mean it’s hot out.”

She stares down at the ground between her feet, trying to catch her breath. It feels like there’s a hot curling vice around her chest, constricting her ribs until she can no longer breathe. She looks up to see Zuko still bending and she blushes hotly.

Yes, it must be the heat.

“Say, Katara,” Toph begins in a ribbing tone, rousing Waterbender’s suspicion, “can you bend drool?”

Katara’s eyes almost bug out of her head before she swiftly recovers, turning away from the courtyard in embarrassment. 

“I don’t know why I’d want to.” 

“Whatever, Sugar Queen,” Toph snorts, bringing her hands behind her head. “But I’m telling you that I can feel the heat from over here—and I’m not talking about the fire or the sun.”

Mortified, Katara sinks into the step, hoping to turn invisible. She vows then and there to never watch Zuko bend shirtless again.


	19. Scarred

He waits for the red-hot terrible anger to take over, but it does not come. Instead, he feels depressed and weighed down like lead, sinking into the abyss of his own despair until he touches bottom. Only then does he take ease in the comfort that he can fall no further.

In fact it is in this feeling of loneliness and shame that he finds a certain kind strength and conviction to carry on. It is the persecuted laughter and the familiar taunts against the banished prince that sing to his outraged soul. But beneath all of this—the torment and the regret—is a man conflicted with choice: to be the man he _thinks_ he wants to be or to be the man he is _destined_ to be.

Which is it?

When she touches his face with such compassion, such gentleness, he feels that sodden weight of despair lift from his heart—if only for a moment. A sort of peace settles into his limbs and he believes he can become the man he truly _wants_ to be. 

For so long he has let his physical mar represent him, emotionally and spiritually. The banished prince marked by the shame of his transgressions, cursed to chase a phantom. But now—now he realises that he can determine his own destiny and with her willing to help, how can he possibly fail?

But he does not choose her. He does not complete his metamorphosis. Instead, he takes the easy way out and betrays what good resides inside himself. And for what? A congratulatory pat on the back? To be accepted back into the good graces of a man who has never truly loved him like a father?

He regrets his betrayal the moment he looks into her swimming blue eyes. Her tears are being shed over his fallen enemy, a boy who has ever only wanted to help. It is then that he realises he never meant for this—for any of it. So long has he hunted this now dead boy in front of him that he cannot imagine a life without him. Never did he believe that the end result would be this—

He has made a mistake, a grave one. Why did he resist? Why did he not rest here upon the bottom of his utmost humiliation and face the demons of his past? Why did he not let her heal him of his sins and help him change? 

_Why?_

Because he is human and he is weak like rest of the world.

Because he is scarred.


	20. Threnody

In the dark quiet of the night she sits alone on the steps of the courtyard. Music still plays in the streets and on the beach below. She hugs her legs to her chest, biting at the salty flesh of her knee. Images keep playing in her head like the music outside, and as the notes rise with anger a rich excitement is laced underneath. She feels the sad and silver threnody beat in sync with her heart.

The song in her mind is dark and monotonous like a slow march. Not sad but like the whole world is dead and black and there is no use thinking back to how is was before—before they came for her mother, before the fate of the world rested on a young boy’s shoulders. He is too young— _they are all too young_ —to be fighting a war, to be dying for the sins of others. The song has become their threnody, the beat of their own death march.

Laughter drifts in the air, mocking and hollow, and she curls her hands into fists. She pounds the music of their laughter into her thigh, pounding with all her strength until the tears begin to stream down her face. But for some reason she cannot feel her fists hard enough, so she picks up a loose rock from the steps and begins to scrape it up and down on the same spot until her hand comes away bloody. 

She collapses onto her back and looks up at the night sky. With the fiery hurt in her leg she feels a little bit better; her breathing comes back to her slow and shallow.

“Katara?”

She turns her head to see Zuko standing on the top of the landing, looking down at her with sleep in his eyes. He’s shirtless, lean and wiry, and he runs his fingers over the smooth pink ridge of his scar up into his hairline. 

He looks exhausted and confused and he sleepily murmurs her name again, dropping his hand before his eyes widen in shock. He can see the blood dripping down her thigh and he takes a hurried step forward and then another until he is kneeling beside her with his hands on her leg.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles, sitting upright and turning away.

She summons water from the fountain and begins to heal herself, hoping that he will just go away and leave her be. But his fingers are on her chin and he lifts her face to meet his eyes. They’re such beautiful eyes despite his deformity. Looking into them, she is reminded of the sky at sunset—the way his eyes curve like the inside of a glass ball, golden yellow with specks of amber like stars.

“I’m scared,” she admits, not knowing why his eyes make her confess so easily.

His fingers curve up her jaw, touching her ear before his hand curls around the back of her neck. He pulls her forward so that her forehead rests against his. Her tears begin to flow freely now, her bloody leg forgotten.

“So am I.” His palm presses warmly on the back of her neck. “But we’ll finish this war together, _as a family_. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

There is a warm smell of cedars wafting through the air, and she can no longer hear the angry music down below. There is only the sound of them breathing, the staccato beating of their hearts. No longer a threnody, the song has become a hymn; beautiful and clear and she can sing it if she wants to. And she will some day.

Some day when their world is at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Threnody is a lament or dirge in the form of a song.
> 
> Disappointing way to end the series? Maybe. But with the title “Unrequited” you weren’t really expecting two lovers kissing—were you? Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the collection. ^_^


End file.
